Devil's Backbone
by Her Majesty the Trash Queen
Summary: War is not the birthright of children, but it seemed God had other plans for them. That didn't make it any easier. Nothing about war was easy, and certainly not some forgotten holy war. But there were things they could still smile about. There were always things to smile about. Right? (Rewritten version)
1. Genesis

**Hi! This is the new prologue to the rewrite of Devil's Backbone!**

 **I'm going to skip introductions and try to keep my notes brief.**

 **D. Gray-Man belongs to Katsura Hoshino, "Genesis" belongs to Forgive Durden, and all characters you don't recognize belong to me unless otherwise specified.**

* * *

Genesis  
 _"This is the beginning and the end. The rise and the fall._  
 _Our gait will begin its saunter at the source, when the infant learns to crawl._

 _Place your hand on mine._  
 _Untie your mind._  
 _Let your bloated brain balloon and float away._  
 _Wet the end of the thread._  
 _Thimble upon your index._

 _Set the needle on its path,_  
 _Bobbing up and down and past._  
 _Tears and seams all turn to one_  
 _With every stitch and each spool spun."_  
 _-Forgive Durden_

Tragedy had always bloomed best in the darkness of night, when the moon and the stars were hidden by dense clouds that stretched to the horizon and into the beyond.

And sometimes, when there were no clouds to secret away the unfolding sorrow from the silver, blinking eyes that dotted the dark tapestry of the sky, it created its own blanket.

Dense, black smoke rolled through the night air, nearly invisible save for where it blotted out the stars and where it seemed to glow orange, lit by a raging fire that was swallowing a small encampment. Dark figures danced across the base of the cloud, shadows cast by men and women and even animals, each shadow stretching into a grotesque figure with a body too long to be natural.

Their encampment was burning, and with it, their livelihood, their possessions, even members of their family.

On a stone outcropping overlooking the unfolding chaos, a lone figure stood, gold eyes glowing brilliantly in the darkness, occasionally flashing brighter when the flames sparked higher. Beneath him, another figure with identical eyes began to climb up to join him, white hair stark even in the shadows.

"Adam."

The figure above was drawn from his trance. At once, he knelt, offering a hand to help the other up to stand beside him. "Wisely," he said quietly.

Wisely looked towards the fires, eyes glowing brighter as the distant light caught in his irises. "One of his daughters," he said. "She used her—" He cut off, voice cracking at the last word before it completely gave out, his throat constricting as tears welled from his eyes anew.

 _Children_. All four that had been lost were too young to learn the intricacies of their memories, and so those memories were gone forever now, never to be seen again.

"Who?"

Wisely glanced at Adam. "Her name was Miriam," he said.

"Miriam?"

"The eldest daughter. She was as deranged as her father."

"'Was?'"

"She died."

"How?"

"Painfully, but not by my doing."

Adam's eyes narrowed minutely, the intensity of their glow enhanced. A ripple of something powerful and ominous drifted around him. "How?"

"Her own Innocence destroyed her," Wisely offered.

Adam laughed, the sound more a dry, mirthless puff of air. "Does it hope I'll forgive it?" he whispered.

"I don't know."

Another huffed laugh. "I'll _never_ forgive it," Adam said simply, and Wisely pretended not to hear the waver in his voice, the rich play of emotions coloring each word. "It killed my children. That is _unforgivable_."

Wisely nodded his head, frowning and glancing down at his fingers. Viridian dust was sprinkled across his skin, and he felt a resurgence of disgust towards the Innocence whose remains now dusted his fingers. He had destroyed every shard he'd managed to get his hands on before the fires in the camp had gotten too much—

Something burned, and he reached into the striped sash around his waist.

No, not all of it.

He produced a single shard of Innocence, a small piece he'd snagged from the body of a man who'd burned in the pyre. Without a word, Wisely offered it to the patriarch at his side, and watched as Adam took it just as silently.

A brief flash of brilliant, violet light sparked at the tips of Adam's fingers and then the viridian light faded with a crackle before dissolving into a glittering green dust that wafted away on the wind.

Adam dropped his hand to his side again. "Please ask the others to enter the Ark," he said, voice suddenly soft, tired. He had the face of a young man, but in that moment he looked as old as he truly was, worn by the centuries that had passed him by. He turned to focus on Wisely. "We're done trying to be civil."

Wisely nodded and tentatively began to wade through the torrent of emotions and stormy thoughts that comprised the collective minds of their family. It was easy to get lost, and he felt his head begin to ache under the pressure, but he pressed on.

Back in the burning camp, a woman stood alone in the middle of the chaos, her hands raw and bloody from trying to tear away the thread of thorns twined around her head like a crude mockery of a crown. She continued to rip away at the crown, ignoring the pain in her hands—or perhaps oblivious to it.

She was too preoccupied with the vision playing across her mind's eye.

A pale, ethereal woman with faint, silvery stigmata across her brow, much like the black stigmata Adam had, but a strange snake, glowing white with a head like a viper and eyes of pale, gleaming green, coiled around this woman's shoulders and slithered down her arms, tongue tasting the air.

"Hila!" A hand grabbed her wrist, tugging her hand away from the wreath of thorns crowning her brow, but she was too lost in the vision to respond to her son's call.

 _Adam will suffer for what he did to our mother_ , a voice whispered, and Hila recognized it as the voice of the thorns round her head.

Lamech, she called it, but she knew it had other names.

It's the Heart, Adam had told her once.

The voice, the Heart's voice, whispered again, _They'll all suffer for what they did to Lilith._

And Hila saw the woman in her mind smile, and heard a strange laugh.

Unbeknownst to Hila, or even to the Heart, another was listening from the distance.

It was a peculiar, gleaming thing, nestled in amongst the chaos and rubble left in the wake of the destruction of the human, the first of the Fallen Ones—Miriam.

The shard of Innocence could hear the Heart's ramblings, just as all Innocence could. As the Heart punished its current accommodator for some unknown crime, it listened, silent as ever.

And it listened to the sound of a sibling in the distance: the sharp scream of terror released by all Innocence in the face of dark matter, and then a sharp crackle and a brief, overwhelming pain and an abrupt nothingness.

Throughout the evening, it had felt Adam, and Wisely, and a few other members of their family destroying other shards of Innocence, other "siblings." That was a new sensation—was it loss? That was new; was this what humans called emotion?

It didn't like it.

 _Loss_.

 _This can't be right_ , the singular shard thought, not for the first time, and picked itself up and dragged itself away in search of another human to accommodate it.

There, hidden away from the silvered light of the stars, a new tragedy took root.

* * *

 **Short, sweet, and to the point.**

 **The first chapter will be up... soon.**


	2. Into a Fantasy

**Whoops, it's been... 6 months? 7? Since I posted the prologue. My life kind of... went downhill, sorry. It's still not all together, but hey, I'm okay!**

 **Anywho, here's the first chapter of Devil's Backbone**

* * *

Into a Fantasy  
 _"We can fly all day long_  
 _Show me the world_  
 _Sing me a song_  
 _Tell me what the future holds_  
 _You and me will paint it all in gold!"_  
 _-Alexander Rybak_

 **July 1850 - Grantsville, Virginia**  
"Can you hear me?"

The girl in the bed didn't make a sound, aside from the shallow, ragged gasps that marked each breath she drew.

"Taryn?"

It would've been nice to get a response, but Charlotte wasn't surprised by the continuing silence. She shifted her weight, lifting her chin from the edge of the bed to study her sister's pallid face. She reached out with one hand to feel of the dampened cloth that was folded and draped across Taryn's forehead in the hopes of breaking her fever. When she felt how hot the dampened fabric was, she winced and pulled it away so she could replace it with another damp cloth, this one cooler than the last.

Her task done, Charlotte lowered her head onto the edge of the bed again, tucking one of her arms under her chin. With her other hand, she caught one of Taryn's and gave a light squeeze. "You gotta wake up soon, Taryn," she whispered. "Papa will be home sometime tomorrow, and Dove's eggs started hatchin' today, so we can start learnin' to hunt like Papa promised."

Of course, she didn't get an answer.

Charlotte smiled. "Mama keeps tellin' Papa we shouldn't be learnin' things like that, but he told her about this goddess named Artemis," she said. "A goddess of huntin'. Said if there's a goddess who hunts, why can't we?" She gave a little laugh, squeezing Taryn's fingers lightly again. "Mama said she ought to whoop you, you know."

Taryn's only response was a particularly rough wheeze that threatened to turn into a coughing fit.

Charlotte sat up, staring at Taryn warily. When her sibling's breathing evened out again, she slowly settled in again. "I really don't blame her," she mumbled. "Sneakin' out like that was really dumb. Still, I dunno why Mama was so surprised. You do dumb things like that all the time." She closed her eyes and bit back a yawn. "But I reckon it's okay if you do dumb things, 'cause I'll always be here to help you. That's what sisters do, ain't it?"

Taryn wheezed again, and Charlotte opened one eye to watch her sibling uneasily.

"You gotta get better, though, okay?" Charlotte whispered sleepily after several long minutes had passed without further noise from Taryn. She closed her eyes again.

-X-

"Lottie?"

Her eyes snapped open, only to close once again in the next instant. She winced at the bright sunlight, turning her head away from the window, and then cracked her eyelids.

"Lottie."

The girl sat up immediately, blinking in surprise at her sibling.

Taryn stared at her groggily, using one hand to wipe at her eyes. "You were talkin' in your sleep," she rasped.

Charlotte ignored her, instead calling out, " _Mama!_ " Then she looked back at Taryn. "How do you feel?"

Taryn shrugged slightly. "Tired."

The door swung open, startling them, and they both looked up as a blonde woman entered the small room.

"Mornin', Mama," Taryn rasped.

"Taryn!" Molly greeted. Her green eyes lit with warmth and relief, and she stepped further into the room to bend over her sallow-skinned daughter, gently resting a hand on her forehead. "Your fever's broken," she said. "Stay here." And, as quickly as she'd arrived, the blonde left the room.

Charlotte peered at her sister. "You scared Mama, you know," she said.

Taryn's expression shifted, twisting with remorse, and she hung her head. "I'm sorry," the sickly girl murmured.

"For what?"

They looked up as their mother returned. She handed Taryn a glass of water before taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"For scarin' you," Taryn murmured.

Molly smiled, leaning toward her daughter to kiss her forehead. "You're better now," she said. "That's all that matters." Then she sat back. "Drink. It'll help."

Taryn stared hard at the glass Molly had pressed into her small hands. Then she raised it to her lips and took a drink.

"Think Papa will be back 'fore dinner?" Charlotte asked.

"With any luck," Molly said.

Taryn lowered her glass, blinking. "Was I sick for that long?" she questioned, surprised.

"Just a few days," Molly said, kissing her daughter's forehead again. "Not as long as last time."

"You didn't even start coughin' this time," Charlotte piped up, grinning.

Taryn grinned back. "That mean I can get up, then?" she asked her mother eagerly.

"No you may not," Molly shot down immediately. "Not 'til we're sure you're really better."

"But Mama!" Taryn started.

"No 'buts,' little miss," Molly tsked. "I don't want you gettin' sick again."

Taryn slumped. "Yes, Mama," she conceded.

Molly pulled her daughters close, hugging them. "You two are the light of my life," she whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Taryn buried her face in her mother's shoulder. "Love you, too, Mama," she said.

"Mhm," Charlotte hummed.

Molly's lips pulled up, causing the corners of her mossy green eyes to crinkle the way they always did when she was happy. "Never forget how much I love you, girls," she whispered to them.

"We won't," Charlotte promised.

Molly let them go and stood again. "Good," she said as she turned to look at them again. "You two should try and get some sleep."

"But you just said I've been sleepin' for the past few days!" Taryn protested.

"Not proper sleep, though," Molly told her. "It'll do you some good to get some real rest."

Charlotte yawned noisily and pushed herself out of the chair at Taryn's bedside. "Anyways, your bed's gotta be more comfortable than the grass," she mumbled as she walked around the foot of Taryn's bed to crawl into her own bed on the other side of the room.

Molly nodded at her daughter's words. "Your sister's right," she agreed. "Speakin' of, if you _ever_ sneak out like that again, I'm gonna whoop you, Taryn."

Taryn shrank, ducking her head so that her long, dark curls concealed her face. "Yes, Mama. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"Good girl." Molly leaned against the doorframe, her forest green eyes darting sideways to stare out the window. She turned her attention back to her twin daughters. "Now be sure you go to sleep, alright? You both need to rest."

"Yes, ma'am," the twins chorused.

Molly smiled at her daughters. "I'll see you when you wake up," she told them softly before stepping back and closing the door behind her.

The girls were silent for several moments, listening to Molly's retreating footsteps.

Then Taryn rolled over to face her sister. "What else did I miss?"

Charlotte yawned again. "Dove's eggs started hatchin'," she mumbled.

Taryn's peridot eyes lit up and she beamed at her sister, her eyes crinkling in the same way their mother's did when she smiled. "How many have hatched?"

"Just one so far," Charlotte told her. "It'll take a few days for them all to hatch, remember? And Mama said Dove is actin' a little funny, so Papa has to check on the nest, too."

"Huh." Taryn pulled her blanket a little tighter around herself and yawned. "Wonder what's wrong."

Charlotte hummed noncommittally. "So why'd you sneak out anyways?" she questioned.

"Wanted to see the stars," Taryn told her.

"You can see the stars from the window, though," Charlotte pointed out.

"Not as much."

"Why didn't you ask me to go with you, then?"

"Tried. You wouldn't wake up."

"That's dumb."

Taryn made a face at her sister, sticking out her tongue. "Nuh-uh!" she answered.

"Uh-huh!" Charlotte said.

For a moment they both tried to glare one another into submission, but it quickly devolved into giggles when Charlotte scrunched up her face and crossed her eyes.

" _Girls!_ " their mother's voice carried from the other room, and they both fell silent at once. Molly called again, "Go to sleep, girls!"

"Yes, Mama!" Charlotte called. Then she looked back at her sister, and they started giggling again, quieter this time. The noise settled quickly, though, and Charlotte curled up more, smiling at her sister. "Sleep tight, Taryn."

Taryn smiled back. "Sweet dreams, Lottie," she answered softly, closing her eyes. In spite of her earlier protests, the sickly girl fell asleep quickly.

-X-

"Molly?"

The blonde lifted her head, looking away from the pot she was standing over to focus on the dark-haired man that'd stepped into the cabin through the door. She pressed a finger to her lips. "The girls are asleep," she said. "Any news?"

"Mmh," Jackson hummed as he set his bow against the wall, and then laid a second, smaller one down next to it, pretending not to notice his wife's disapproving stare. "The president's dead."

Molly frowned. "So Fillmore's in office now?" she asked.

"Yeah," Jackson said. "Taylor died on the ninth."

"Oh, lord," Molly sighed. "Was he assassinated?"

"No. He was just ill."

Molly nodded. "Any other news?"

"Rumors of secession."

"There's _always_ talks of secession, Jack. No one ever acts on it," Molly tutted. "That's not news."

Jackson nodded, stepping around the table to kiss her temple. "I got a deer on my way home," he said.

"Make jerky out of it," Molly said. "As much as you can. We need to start storing for winter. How's the hide?"

"Decent." Jackson looped an arm around his wife's waist, smiling. "I'm thinkin' about tanning it and makin' Taryn's falconry furniture out of it."

"Taryn got sick again."

His smile fell. "She alright?"

"She woke up this mornin'," Molly told him softly. She turned her head, kissing his cheek, and gave him a strained look. "I'm afraid you might need to talk to the carpenter soon."

"You think… you think she's gonna…?"

Molly pursed her lips. "She wasn't as sick this time, but…" she trailed off, looking down and covering her mouth to try and hide the soft sob that threatened to bubble up and escape her. "I don't understand. Charlotte stopped gettin' sick when she was five, but with Taryn, it just seems to be happenin' more and more. What am I doin' wrong, Jack?"

Jackson turned his wife towards him and wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head. "Nothin', Molly," he whispered. He hugged her closer. "This ain't your fault."

She shook her head as she hugged him. "I can't lose them, Jack," she breathed. "They're my world."

"Mine, too," Jackson said. He squeezed her tight, and then finally let her go. "I'm gonna go see them."

"They're asleep," Molly reminded him gently.

"Yes, ma'am," Jackson said. He stooped to kiss his wife again, offering her a warm, reassuring smile. Then he stepped around her to head into the adjacent room where their daughters slept. He opened the door slowly, leaned around it, and then stepped into the room as quietly as he could.

Both girls were fast asleep, curled up under their blankets.

Jackson smiled, stepping around so that he stood between their beds. He crouched beside Taryn, raising a single hand to brush stray curls from her face so he could see her. Then he leaned closer to kiss her forehead.

Taryn made a small noise, a low, groggy whine, and curled up even more.

Jackson chuckled quietly, a single, faint huff of amusement. He lingered at her bedside for a long moment. Then he turned his attention to her sister, kissing her forehead, too.

Charlotte was unresponsive, unlike her sister.

Jackson looked between his daughters thoughtfully. As he pushed himself up onto his feet again, he gave a long, heavy sigh. Then he turned to leave the room.

As soon as the door clicked behind him, Charlotte's eyes snapped open. She focused on the door intently, then switched her attention to her sister, still fast asleep in the bed next to her. Her throat started to constrict at the thought of losing Taryn, so she rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling, brooding over what she'd just heard her parents discussing in the next room.

Molly Foley prayed a lot, although she did it in private—she always explained that one's relationship and conversations with God were private.

Charlotte had never tried before. She didn't know what she was supposed to say, or how to word it, or even if there was a special way to say the words. So she just fixed the ceiling with a steely glare and whispered harshly, "You gotta make sure she'll be alright." Then, with a loud huff, she rolled onto her side again and pulled the blanket up over her head.

-X-

"Girls!"

"Yes, Papa?" Charlotte called from the porch, leaned over the railing to try and spot her father.

A moment later, Taryn leaned around behind her, straining to spy the dark-haired man.

"Girls!" Jackson called again. "Come here!"

Finally they caught a glimpse of him carrying a bundle of screeching fuzz.

Taryn bounded off of the porch, only to freeze when Molly's stern voice cut through the air.

"Slow down, Taryn," the blonde said. "You'll catch cold if you waste all of your energy at once."

"Yes, Mama," the girl answered.

"Girls!" Jackson called.

Taryn turned and bolted.

Charlotte took off after her, laughing.

" _Slow down!_ " Molly called again, exasperated.

Jackson laughed at his daughters as they bounded up to him. Then he crouched, showing them the screeching bundle of downy feathers that he was cradling in his hands.

Taryn leaned close, grinning as the chick screeched at her.

"I think this is the one that hatched first," Jackson told them. "She seems to be the strongest of them."

Charlotte suddenly snickered. "Dove's givin' you the same look Mama sometimes gives you," she pointed out.

Jackson blanched and turned his head towards the mew, where the white gyrfalcon was staring at him intently, her other chicks leaning out of the nesting box and screeching at her for food. "She ain't happy that I took her chick," he chuckled. "I just wanted to show her to you. I promised you could train the first one to hatch, Taryn."

Taryn tilted her head so she could peer past her father at Dove and the two chicks behind her. "But didn't Dove lay four eggs?" she questioned.

Jackson nodded. "She rejected the last egg earlier today," he said. "It's not gonna hatch."

Taryn looked aghast. "But she can't!" she exclaimed.

Jackson shook his head. "It happens sometimes," he explained. "Birds just have a way of knowin' these things. It's likely the chick inside died, or it's malformed or sick and it'll die soon after hatchin'."

"But Papa!" Taryn said. "What if she's wrong? What if it's okay?"

"Taryn—"

"Can we try?" Taryn insisted. "Please? You said once that there's a way to hatch eggs without a bird."

"Well, there is, but—"

" _Please?_ " Charlotte piped up, her gray-green eyes wide.

Jackson frowned, looking between his daughters. Then he sighed and nodded slowly. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give it a few more days," he conceded.

" _Yes!_ " the sisters cried triumphantly.

Jackson shook his head at his daughters, amused. Then he stepped back into the mew to return the chick to her mother. Then he removed the speckled egg that Dove had rejected, holding it up to show his daughters, who were watching him attentively.

As soon as he returned to them, Taryn spoke up, "When it hatches, can I train it instead?"

Jackson smiled at his daughter. " _If_ it hatches, then yes," he said.

"It'll hatch," Taryn informed him, her expression set with determination. "And I'll make sure the chick grows up just as strong as Dove!"

Jackson pressed the egg into her hands.

Charlotte leaned closer to her sister to peer at the tan and brown egg. "So how do we hatch it?"

"You make a cloth nest in a box and set the box near the stove, but not too close," Jackson told her. He set off towards the cabin. "I'll show you how to set up an incubator." He glanced back. "It's your job to tend to it, though."

"Yes, Papa!" Taryn answered, smiling at him.

When they reached the cabin, Molly had disappeared back inside. She looked up at them as they squeezed in through the door. "So?" she questioned. "When do you start teachin' them?"

Jackson smiled slightly. "Change of plans," he said. "Taryn and Charlotte are determined to hatch the egg Dove turned away."

Molly studied him for a moment before she nodded, turning and tossing a rag to him. "Then I suppose you'll need this," she said, smiling.

Jackson caught it easily, offering a sheepish grin in response. Then he handed it to Taryn. "Wrap the egg in this while I get a box," he instructed.

Taryn obeyed immediately. With all the care of a mother swaddling an infant, she carefully wrapped the fabric around the egg. Then she cradled it close to her chest and watched as her father disappeared into the back bedroom where he and Molly slept.

"You girls really think it'll hatch?" Molly questioned as she turned back to the counter.

Taryn pulled herself up into a chair at the table so she could watch her mother kneading dough.

Charlotte sat down beside her, crossing her arms and resting her chin on her arm. "Dunno," she said. "But we gotta try, right?"

Taryn sat up, frowning. "It will!" she insisted.

Molly glanced back, smiling slightly. "That so?"

"Yeah!" Taryn said. "I know it!"

Molly's smile widened. Her eyes slid to the door just as Jackson stepped out of the bedroom with a small box, which he set on the table in front of Taryn. "Set it in there," he told her. "And we'll set it down close to the stove so it'll stay warm."

"Okay!" Taryn chirped brightly, leaping from the seat she'd claimed. She carefully settled the swathed egg in the small crate before looking up at her father. "How close?"

Jackson seemed to think for a moment before he gently took the box from his daughter and stepped between Taryn and Molly. He stopped next to the stove, where he stood for a few seconds, gauging the heat radiating from within. Then he knelt to lay the box only a few feet away. "We'll have to keep an eye on it," he said. "We don't want the egg to get too warm or too cold."

Taryn nodded eagerly, her gaze locked on the box with a strange intensity, as though she were willing the egg to hatch.

-X-

On the third morning after they brought the final egg in, Charlotte woke first. After getting dressed, she walked out into the main room of the cabin, covering her mouth to hide a sleepy yawn.

Molly was singing something under her breath as she sewed. When she saw her daughter, she looked up with a warm smile. "Good mornin'," she greeted. "You should wake your sister."

"Thought we weren't supposed to wake her," Charlotte mumbled as she rubbed sleep from her eyes.

"This time, we'll make an exception," Molly told her.

Charlotte covered her mouth to hide yet another yawn, and started to turn back to the door when a small sound caught her ears.

A faint shrieking cry, muffled so that it was nearly inaudible.

Charlotte looked back at her mother, whose smile widened slightly. Then she rushed back into the bedroom, calling, " _Taryn!_ "

Her sister gave a low, sleepy whine, tugging her blanket closer around herself. That didn't last, however.

Charlotte leaped, and the bed groaned beneath her sudden weight, bouncing once to jostle Taryn. In turn, the girl rolled over with a yelp and there came a loud thud as she rolled, blankets and all, to the floor.

" _Lottie!_ " Taryn shouted her groggy protest, but the noise was muffled by the tangle of blankets writhing on the floor.

"The egg!" Charlotte told her. "Your egg's hatchin'!"

The writhing mass of fabric stilled for a moment, and then began flailing more desperately

Then Taryn's head appeared, her virescent eyes wide and shining, crinkled at the corners like their mother's eyes did when she smiled. She managed to free herself from the blanket and threw it at her sister, knocking her from the bed with another thud. While Charlotte worked on freeing herself, Taryn ran out into the main room.

Molly chuckled at her as she appeared, before pointing at the box still nestled near the stove.

Taryn blinked owlishly before she hurried closer and crouched beside the box, reaching out to gently move the fabric away from where the egg was supposed to be.

Most of its speckled shell was shattered and strewn, and a tiny, pale mass of fuzz was laying half in and half out of what part of the egg was still in tact, its tiny head moving slowly, blindly, as its eyes were still closed. As soon as the rag was moved away, it gave a loud, squeak.

Decidedly not a pretty sound, but Taryn was unfazed. She beamed, tilting her head to peer at the rest of the chick still inside the egg. "Can I move him?" she asked her mother.

"Is it completely out of the egg?" Molly questioned, barely glancing up from her sewing as her other daughter finally appeared.

"Not yet," Taryn said.

"Then you'll have to wait," Molly chuckled. Her mossy eyes glittered with amusement when she saw her daughter pull a face out of the corner of her eye. "It needs to do it on its own."

Charlotte came up behind Taryn and leaned forward to peer over her shoulder at the squirming form. "It isn't as big as the others," she mused.

"That might be why Dove rejected the egg," Molly said, lifting her head at last.

Taryn frowned, looking up. "I'm gonna raise him to be just as strong as Dove!" she declared firmly.

Molly smiled. "I'm sure it will be," she agreed. She nodded at Charlotte. "Go tell your father the egg's almost done hatchin'. I don't think Taryn wants to move."

Charlotte snickered, eyeing her sibling, who wrinkled her nose at her.

Taryn turned to look back at the chick, listening to her sister's retreating footsteps.

Molly leaned forward to look past her. "What will you name it?"

Taryn inclined her head to the side, thinking as she watched the shrieking bundle of damp feathers.

As it stilled, heaving exhaustedly from its ordeal, she grinned.

"His name is Pax."

* * *

 **Same story, written a little better. There will be some small edits to the overall story, but the plot will be... basically the same.**

 **I really hope to get the next chapter out sooner.**

 **Some historical notes for you!  
**

 **-Molly mentions needing the carpenter's services. Carpenters made coffins in those days.**

 **-President Zachary Taylor died on the 9th of July 1850, from "cholera morbus" or gastroenteritis. He was staunchly opposed to slavery and threatened military action against any states that seceded, which is why Molly asked if he was assassinated. He would've had enemies.**

 **-Granstville, West Virginia is a real place, although it was in Virginia in the years before the American Civil War. Settlers first moved to the area in 1810, but it wouldn't even be recognized as a municipal until 1856, six years after this chapter takes place.**


End file.
